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diff --git a/30279-0.txt b/30279-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e101eb9 --- /dev/null +++ b/30279-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,922 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30279 *** + +[Illustration: Y^e Deacon] + + + + + The One Hoss Shay + + _With its Companion Poems_ + + How the Old Horse Won the Bet + & + The Broomstick Train + + By Oliver Wendell Holmes + + _With Illustrations by_ + Howard Pyle + + [Illustration] + + _Boston and New York_ + Houghton, Mifflin and Company + The Riverside Press, Cambridge + M DCCC XCII + + + + + Copyright, 1858, 1877, 1886, and 1890, + BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. + + Copyright, 1891, + BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. + + _All rights reserved._ + + + _The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A._ + Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. + + + + +Preface + + +My publishers suggested the bringing together of the three poems here +presented to the reader as being to some extent alike in their general +character. "The Wonderful One-Hoss Shay" is a perfectly intelligible +conception, whatever material difficulties it presents. It is +conceivable that a being of an order superior to humanity should so +understand the conditions of matter that he could construct a machine +which should go to pieces, if not into its constituent atoms, at a given +moment of the future. The mind may take a certain pleasure in this +picture of the impossible. The event follows as a logical consequence of +the presupposed condition of things. + +There is a practical lesson to be got out of the story. Observation +shows us in what point any particular mechanism is most likely to give +way. In a wagon, for instance, the weak point is where the axle enters +the hub or nave. When the wagon breaks down, three times out of four, I +think, it is at this point that the accident occurs. The workman should +see to it that this part should never give way; then find the next +vulnerable place, and so on, until he arrives logically at the perfect +result attained by the deacon. + + * * * * * + +Unquestionably there is something a little like extravagance in "How the +Old Horse won the Bet," which taxes the credulity of experienced +horsemen. Still there have been a good many surprises in the history of +the turf and the trotting course. + +The Godolphin Arabian was taken from ignoble drudgery to become the +patriarch of the English racing stock. + +Old Dutchman was transferred from between the shafts of a cart to +become a champion of the American trotters in his time. + +"Old Blue," a famous Boston horse of the early decades of this century, +was said to trot a mile in less than three minutes, but I do not find +any exact record of his achievements. + +Those who have followed the history of the American trotting horse are +aware of the wonderful development of speed attained in these last +years. The lowest time as yet recorded is by Maud S. in 2.08-3/4. + + * * * * * + +If there are any anachronisms or other inaccuracies in this story, the +reader will please to remember that the narrator's memory is liable to +be at fault, and if the event recorded interests him, will not worry +over any little slips or stumbles. + + * * * * * + +The terrible witchcraft drama of 1692 has been seriously treated, as it +well deserves to be. The story has been told in two large volumes by +the Rev. Charles Wentworth Upham, and in a small and more succinct +volume, based upon his work, by his daughter-in-law, Caroline E. Upham. + +The delusion commonly spoken of, as if it belonged to Salem, was more +widely diffused through the towns of Essex County. Looking upon it as a +pitiful and long dead and buried superstition, I trust my poem will no +more offend the good people of Essex County than Tam O'Shanter worries +the honest folk of Ayrshire. + +The localities referred to are those with which I am familiar in my +drives about Essex County. + + O. W. H. + + _July, 1891._ + +[Illustration] + + + + +List of Illustrations + + + THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE. PAGE + The Deacon _Frontispiece._ + Half Title 11 + The Masterpiece 12 + "A chaise breaks down" 14 + "The Deacon inquired of the village folk" 16 + "Naow she'll dew" 18 + "She was a wonder, and nothing less" 19 + "Deacon and deaconess dropped away" 20 + "Eighteen Hundred" 21 + "Fifty-Five" 21 + "Its hundredth year" 22 + "A general flavor of mild decay" 23 + "In another hour it will be worn out" 24 + "The parson takes a drive" 25 + "All at once the horse stood still" 26 + "Then something decidedly like a spill" 27 + "Just as bubbles do when they burst" 28 + "End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay" 29 + + HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET. + Half Title 30 + "The famous trotting ground" 31 + "Many a noted steed" 32 + "The Sunday swell" 33 + "The jointed tandem" 34 + "So shy with us, so free with these" 35 + "The lovely bonnets beamed their smiles" 36 + "I'll bet you two to one" 37 + "Harnessed in his one-hoss-shay" 38 + "The sexton ... led forth the horse" 40 + "A sight to see" 41 + "They lead him, limping, to the track" 42 + "To limber out each stiffened joint" 43 + "Something like a stride" 45 + "A mighty stride he swung" 47 + "Off went a shoe" 48 + "And now the stand he rushes by" 50 + "And off they spring" 51 + "They follow at his heels" 52 + "They're losing ground" 52 + "He's distanced all the lot" 53 + "Some took his time" 54 + "Back in the one-hoss shay he went" 56 + "A horse _can_ trot, for all he's old" 57 + + THE BROOMSTICK TRAIN. + Half Title 58 + "Clear the track" 59 + "An Essex Deacon dropped in to call" 60 + "The old dwellings" 61 + "The small square windows" 61 + "Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes" 63 + "Norman's Woe" 64 + "The Screeching Woman of Marblehead" 65 + "It isn't fair" 66 + "You're a good old--fellow--come, let us go" 68 + "See how tall they've grown" 69 + "They called the cats" 70 + "The Essex people had dreadful times" 71 + "The withered hags were free" 72 + "A strange sea-monster stole their bait" 74 + "They could hear him twenty miles" 75 + "They came ... at their master's call" 76 + "You can hear her black cat's purr" 78 + "Catch a gleam from her wicked eye" 79 + Tail Piece 80 + +[Illustration] + + + + + _The_ + Deacon's Masterpiece + _or the_ + _Wonderful_ + One-Hoss-Shay + + _A Logical Story_ + + +[Illustration] + + + +The Deacon's Masterpiece + + + Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, + That was built in such a logical way + It ran a hundred years to a day, + And then, of a sudden, it--ah, but stay, + I'll tell you what happened without delay, + Scaring the parson into fits, + Frightening people out of their wits,-- + Have you ever heard of that, I say? + + Seventeen hundred and fifty-five, + _Georgius Secundus_ was then alive,-- + Snuffy old drone from the German hive; + That was the year when Lisbon-town + Saw the earth open and gulp her down, + And Braddock's army was done so brown, + Left without a scalp to its crown. + It was on the terrible earthquake-day + That the Deacon finished the one-hoss-shay. + + Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, + There is always _somewhere_ a weakest spot,-- + In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, + In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill, + +[Illustration: "A chaise breaks down but doesn't wear out"] + + In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace,--lurking still, + Find it somewhere you must and will,-- + Above or below, or within or without,-- + And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, + A chaise _breaks down_, but doesn't _wear out_. + + But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do, + With an "I dew vum," or an "I tell _yeou_,") + He would build one shay to beat the taown + 'n' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun'; + It should be so built that it _couldn'_ break daown! + --"Fur," said the Deacon, "'t's mighty plain + Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain; + 'n' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, + Is only jest + T' make that place uz strong uz the rest." + + So the Deacon inquired of the village folk + Where he could find the strongest oak, + That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke,-- + +[Illustration] + + That was for spokes and floor and sills; + He sent for lancewood to make the thills; + The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees, + The panels of whitewood, that cuts like cheese, + But lasts like iron for things like these; + The hubs of logs from the "Settler's ellum,"-- + Last of its timber,--they couldn't sell 'em, + Never an axe had seen their chips, + And the wedges flew from between their lip + Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips; + Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, + Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, + Steel of the finest, bright and blue; + Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; + Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide + Found in the pit when the tanner died. + That was the way he "put her through." + "There!" said the Deacon, "naow she'll dew." + + Do! I tell you, I rather guess + She was a wonder, and nothing less! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: "She was a wonder, and nothing less"] + + Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, + Deacon and deaconess dropped away, + Children and grandchildren--where were they? + But there stood the stout old one-hoss-shay + As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: 1800] + + Eighteen Hundred;--it came and found + The Deacon's Masterpiece strong and sound. + Eighteen hundred increased by ten;-- + "Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then. + Eighteen hundred and twenty came;-- + Running as usual; much the same. + Thirty and forty at last arrive, + And then come fifty, and FIFTY-FIVE. + +[Illustration: 1855] + +[Illustration] + + Little of all we value here + Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year + Without both feeling and looking queer. + In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth, + So far as I know, but a tree and truth. + (This is a moral that runs at large; + Take it.--You're welcome.--No extra charge.) + +[Illustration] + + First of November,--the Earthquake-day.-- + There are traces of age in the one-hoss-shay, + A general flavor of mild decay, + But nothing local, as one may say. + There couldn't be,--for the Deacon's art + Had made it so like in every part + That there wasn't a chance for one to start. + For the wheels were just as strong as the thills, + And the floor was just as strong as the sills, + And the panels just as strong as the floor, + And the whippletree neither less nor more, + And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore, + And spring and axle and hub _encore_, + And yet, _as a whole_, it is past a doubt + In another hour it will be _worn out_! + +[Illustration] + + First of November, 'Fifty-five! + This morning the parson takes a drive. + Now, small boys, get out of the way! + Here comes the wonderful one-hoss-shay, + Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. + "Huddup!" said the parson.--Off went they. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + The parson was working his Sunday's text,-- + Had got to _fifthly_, and stopped perplexed + At what the--Moses--was coming next. + All at once the horse stood still, + Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. + --First a shiver, and then a thrill, + Then something decidedly like a spill,-- + +[Illustration: Then something decidedly like a spill] + + And the parson was sitting upon a rock, + At half-past nine by the meet'n'-house clock,-- + Just the hour of the Earthquake shock! + --What do you think the parson found, + When he got up and stared around? + The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, + As if it had been to the mill and ground! + You see, of course, if you're not a dunce, + How it went to pieces all at once,-- + All at once, and nothing first,-- + Just as bubbles do when they burst. + +[Illustration] + + End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay. + Logic is logic. That's all I say. + +[Illustration] + + + + + _How the_ Old Horse + _Won the_ + BET + + _Dedicated by a Contributor + to the_ Collegian + 1830 + _To the Editor of the_ Advocate + 1876 + + + + +[Illustration] + +HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET + + + 'T was on the famous trotting-ground, + The betting men were gathered round + From far and near; the "cracks" were there + Whose deeds the sporting prints declare: + The swift g. m., Old Hiram's nag, + The fleet s. h., Dan Pfeiffer's brag, + With these a third--and who is he + That stands beside his fast b. g.? + Budd Doble, whose catarrhal name + So fills the nasal trump of fame. + +[Illustration] + + There too stood many a noted steed + Of Messenger and Morgan breed; + Green horses also, not a few; + Unknown as yet what they could do; + And all the hacks that know so well + The scourgings of the Sunday swell. + +[Illustration: The Sunday Swell] + + Blue are the skies of opening day; + The bordering turf is green with May; + The sunshine's golden gleam is thrown + On sorrel, chestnut, bay, and roan; + The horses paw and prance and neigh, + Fillies and colts like kittens play, + And dance and toss their rippled manes + Shining and soft as silken skeins; + Wagons and gigs are ranged about, + And fashion flaunts her gay turn-out; + Here stands,--each youthful Jehu's dream,-- + The jointed tandem, ticklish team! + +[Illustration] + + And there in ampler breadth expand + The splendors of the four-in-hand; + On faultless ties and glossy tiles + The lovely bonnets beam their smiles; + (The style's the man, so books avow; + The style's the woman, anyhow;) + From flounces frothed with creamy lace + Peeps out the pug-dog's smutty face, + Or spaniel rolls his liquid eye, + Or stares the wiry pet of Skye;-- + O woman, in your hours of ease + So shy with us, so free with these! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: On faultless ties and glossy tiles + The lovely bonnets beam their smiles] + + "Come on! I'll bet you two to one + I'll make him do it!" "Will you? Done!" + + What was it who was bound to do? + I did not hear and can't tell you,-- + Pray listen till my story's through. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + Scarce noticed, back behind the rest, + By cart and wagon rudely prest, + The parson's lean and bony bay + Stood harnessed in his one-horse shay-- + Lent to his sexton for the day; + (A funeral--so the sexton said; + His mother's uncle's wife was dead.) + + Like Lazarus bid to Dives' feast, + So looked the poor forlorn old beast; + His coat was rough, his tail was bare, + The gray was sprinkled in his hair; + Sportsmen and jockeys knew him not, + And yet they say he once could trot + Among the fleetest of the town, + Till something cracked and broke him down,-- + The steed's, the statesman's, common lot! + "And are we then so soon forgot?" + Ah me! I doubt if one of you + Has ever heard the name "Old Blue," + Whose fame through all this region rung + In those old days when I was young! + + "Bring forth the horse!" Alas! he showed + Not like the one Mazeppa rode; + Scant-maned, sharp-backed, and shaky-kneed, + The wreck of what was once a steed, + Lips thin, eyes hollow, stiff in joints; + Yet not without his knowing points. + The sexton laughing in his sleeve, + As if 't were all a make-believe, + Led forth the horse, and as he laughed + +[Illustration] + + Unhitched the breeching from a shaft, + Unclasped the rusty belt beneath, + Drew forth the snaffle from his teeth, + Slipped off his head-stall, set him free + From strap and rein,--a sight to see! + +[Illustration] + + So worn, so lean in every limb, + It can't be they are saddling him! + It is! his back the pig-skin strides + And flaps his lank, rheumatic sides; + With look of mingled scorn and mirth + They buckle round the saddle-girth; + With horsey wink and saucy toss + A youngster throws his leg across, + And so, his rider on his back, + They lead him, limping, to the track, + Far up behind the starting-point, + To limber out each stiffened joint. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: "To limber out each stiffened joint"] + + As through the jeering crowd he past, + One pitying look old Hiram cast; + "Go it, ye cripple, while ye can!" + Cried out unsentimental Dan; + "A Fast-Day dinner for the crows!" + Budd Doble's scoffing shout arose. + + Slowly, as when the walking-beam + First feels the gathering head of steam, + With warning cough and threatening wheeze + The stiff old charger crooks his knees; + At first with cautious step sedate, + As if he dragged a coach of state; + He's not a colt; he knows full well + That time is weight and sure to tell; + No horse so sturdy but he fears + The handicap of twenty years. + + As through the throng on either hand + The old horse nears the judges' stand, + Beneath his jockey's feather-weight + He warms a little to his gait, + And now and then a step is tried + That hints of something like a stride. + +[Illustration] + + "Go!"--Through his ear the summons stung + As if a battle-trump had rung; + The slumbering instincts long unstirred + Start at the old familiar word; + It thrills like flame through every limb-- + What mean his twenty years to him? + The savage blow his rider dealt + Fell on his hollow flanks unfelt; + The spur that pricked his staring hide + Unheeded tore his bleeding side; + Alike to him are spur and rein,-- + He steps a five-year-old again! + + Before the quarter pole was past, + Old Hiram said, "He's going fast." + Long ere the quarter was a half, + The chuckling crowd had ceased to laugh; + Tighter his frightened jockey clung + As in a mighty stride he swung, + The gravel flying in his track, + His neck stretched out, his ears laid back, + His tail extended all the while + Behind him like a rat-tail file! + +[Illustration] + + Off went a shoe,--away it spun, + Shot like a bullet from a gun; + The quaking jockey shapes a prayer + From scraps of oaths he used to swear; + He drops his whip, he drops his rein, + He clutches fiercely for a mane; + +[Illustration] + + He'll lose his hold--he sways and reels-- + He'll slide beneath those trampling heels! + The knees of many a horseman quake, + The flowers on many a bonnet shake, + And shouts arise from left and right, + "Stick on! Stick on!" "Hould tight! Hould tight!" + "Cling round his neck and don't let go--" + "That pace can't hold,--there! steady! whoa!" + But like the sable steed that bore + The spectral lover of Lenore, + His nostrils snorting foam and fire, + No stretch his bony limbs can tire; + And now the stand he rushes by, + And "Stop him!--stop him!" is the cry. + +[Illustration: "And now the stand he rushes by"] + + Stand back! he's only just begun,-- + He's having out three heats in one! + + "Don't rush in front! he'll smash your brains; + But follow up and grab the reins!" + Old Hiram spoke. Dan Pfeiffer heard, + And sprang impatient at the word; + Budd Doble started on his bay, + Old Hiram followed on his gray, + And off they spring, and round they go, + The fast ones doing "all they know." + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + Look! twice they follow at his heels, + As round the circling course he wheels, + And whirls with him that clinging boy + Like Hector round the walls of Troy; + Still on, and on, the third time round! + They're tailing off! they're losing ground! + +[Illustration] + + Budd Doble's nag begins to fail! + Dan Pfeiffer's sorrel whisks his tail! + And see! in spite of whip and shout, + Old Hiram's mare is giving out! + Now for the finish! at the turn, + The old horse--all the rest astern,-- + Comes swinging in, with easy trot; + By Jove! he's distanced all the lot! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + That trot no mortal could explain; + Some said, "Old Dutchman come again!" + Some took his time,--at least they tried, + But what it was could none decide; + One said he couldn't understand + What happened to his second hand; + One said 2.10; _that_ couldn't be-- + More like two twenty two or three; + Old Hiram settled it at last; + "The time was two--too dee-vel-ish fast!" + + The parson's horse had won the bet; + It cost him something of a sweat; + Back in the one-hoss shay he went; + The parson wondered what it meant, + And murmured, with a mild surprise + And pleasant twinkle of the eyes, + "That funeral must have been a trick, + Or corpses drive at double-quick; + I shouldn't wonder, I declare, + If brother--Jehu--made the prayer!" + + And this is all I have to say + About that tough old trotting bay. + Huddup! Huddup! G'lang!--Good-day! + +[Illustration: "Back in the one-horse-shay he went"] + + Moral for which this tale is told: + A horse _can_ trot, for all he's old. + +[Illustration] + + + + + The + + BROOMSTICK + TRAIN + + or + + The Return of the + WITCHES + + + + +[Illustration] + +THE BROOMSTICK TRAIN + + + Look out! Look out, boys! Clear the track! + The witches are here! They've all come back! + They hanged them high,--No use! No use! + What cares a witch for a hangman's noose? + They buried them deep, but they wouldn't lie still, + For cats and witches are hard to kill; + They swore they shouldn't and wouldn't die,-- + Books said they did, but they lie! they lie! + + --A couple of hundred years, or so, + They had knocked about in the world below, + When an Essex Deacon dropped in to call, + And a homesick feeling seized them all; + For he came from a place they knew full well, + And many a tale he had to tell. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + They long to visit the haunts of men, + To see the old dwellings they knew again, + And ride on their broomsticks all around + Their wide domain of unhallowed ground. + + In Essex county there's many a roof + Well known to him of the cloven hoof; + The small square windows are full in view + Which the midnight hags went sailing through, + +[Illustration] + + On their well-trained broomsticks mounted high, + Seen like shadows against the sky; + Crossing the track of owls and bats, + Hugging before them their coal-black cats. + + Well did they know, those gray old wives, + The sights we see in our daily drives: + Shimmer of lake and shine of sea, + Brown's bare hill with its lonely tree, + (It wasn't then as we see it now, + With one scant scalp-lock to shade its brow;) + Dusky nooks in the Essex woods, + Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes, + Where the tree-toad watches the sinuous snake + Glide through his forests of fern and brake; + +[Illustration: "Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes"] + + Ipswich River; its old stone bridge; + Far off Andover's Indian Ridge, + And many a scene where history tells + Some shadow of bygone terror dwells,-- + Of "Norman's Woe" with its tale of dread, + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + Of the Screeching Woman of Marblehead, + (The fearful story that turns men pale: + Don't bid me tell it,--my speech would fail.) + + Who would not, will not, if he can, + Bathe in the breezes of fair Cape Ann,-- + Rest in the bowers her bays enfold, + Loved by the sachems and squaws of old? + Home where the white magnolias bloom, + Sweet with the bayberry's chaste perfume, + Hugged by the woods and kissed by the sea! + Where is the Eden like to thee? + + For that "couple of hundred years, or so," + There had been no peace in the world below; + The witches still grumbling, "It isn't fair; + Come, give us a taste of the upper air! + We've had enough of your sulphur springs, + And the evil odor that round them clings; + We long for a drink that is cool and nice,-- + Great buckets of water with Wenham ice; + +[Illustration] + + We've served you well up-stairs, you know; + You're a good old--fellow--come, let us go!" + + I don't feel sure of his being good, + But he happened to be in a pleasant mood,-- + As fiends with their skins full sometimes are,-- + (He'd been drinking with "roughs" at a Boston bar.) + So what does he do but up and shout + To a graybeard turnkey, "Let 'em out!" + + To mind his orders was all he knew; + The gates swung open, and out they flew + "Where are our broomsticks?" the beldams cried. + +[Illustration: "You're a good old-fellow-come, let us go"] + + "Here are your broomsticks," an imp replied. + "They've been in--the place you know--so long + They smell of brimstone uncommon strong; + But they've gained by being left alone,-- + Just look, and you'll see how tall they've grown." + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + --"And where is my cat?" a vixen squalled. + "Yes, where are our cats?" the witches bawled, + And began to call them all by name: + As fast as they called the cats, they came: + There was bob-tailed Tommy and long-tailed Tim, + And wall-eyed Jacky and green-eyed Jim, + And splay-foot Benny and slim-legged Beau, + And Skinny and Squally, and Jerry and Joe, + And many another that came at call,-- + It would take too long to count them all. + All black,--one could hardly tell which was which, + But every cat knew his own old witch; + And she knew hers as hers knew her,-- + Ah, didn't they curl their tails and purr! + + No sooner the withered hags were free + Than out they swarmed for a midnight spree; + I couldn't tell all they did in rhymes, + But the Essex people had dreadful times. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: "The withered hags were free"] + + The Swampscott fishermen still relate + How a strange sea-monster stole their bait; + How their nets were tangled in loops and knots, + And they found dead crabs in their lobster-pots. + Poor Danvers grieved for her blasted crops, + And Wilmington mourned over mildewed hops. + A blight played havoc with Beverly beans,-- + It was all the work of those hateful queans! + A dreadful panic began at "Pride's," + Where the witches stopped in their midnight rides, + And there rose strange rumors and vague alarms + 'Mid the peaceful dwellers at Beverly Farms. + +[Illustration: "A strange sea-monster stole their bait"] + + Now when the Boss of the Beldams found + That without his leave they were ramping round, + He called,--they could hear him twenty miles, + From Chelsea beach to the Misery Isles; + The deafest old granny knew his tone + Without the trick of the telephone. + +[Illustration] + + "Come here, you witches! Come here!" says he,-- + "At your games of old, without asking me! + I'll give you a little job to do + That will keep you stirring, you godless crew!" + + They came, of course, at their master's call, + The witches, the broomsticks, the cats, and all; + +[Illustration] + + He led the hags to a railway train + The horses were trying to drag in vain. + "Now, then," says he, "you've had your fun, + And here are the cars you've got to run. + The driver may just unhitch his team, + We don't want horses, we don't want steam + You may keep your old black cats to hug, + But the loaded train you've got to lug." + + Since then on many a car you'll see + A broomstick plain as plain can be; + On every stick there's a witch astride,-- + The string you see to her leg is tied. + She will do a mischief if she can, + But the string is held by a careful man, + And whenever the evil-minded witch + Would cut some caper, he gives a twitch. + +[Illustration] + + As for the hag, you can't see her, + But hark! you can hear her black cat's purr, + And now and then, as a car goes by, + You may catch a gleam from her wicked eye. + + Often you've looked on a rushing train, + But just what moved it was not so plain. + It couldn't be those wires above, + For they could neither pull nor shove; + Where was the motor that made it go + You couldn't guess, _but now you know_. + +[Illustration: "Catch a gleam from her wicked eye"] + + Remember my rhymes when you ride again + On the rattling rail by the broomstick train! + +[Illustration: The End] + + + + +Transcriber's Note + +The following typographical errors were corrected. + + Page Error + 9 one-hoss-shay changed to one-hoss shay + 49 let go-- changed to let go--" + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The One Hoss Shay, by Oliver Wendell Holmes + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30279 *** |